


Closed Mouths Don't Get Fed On This Boulevard

by jargonelle



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1643966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jargonelle/pseuds/jargonelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Con artist AU (the teenage flashback version). Written for ad-kink.livejournal.com</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closed Mouths Don't Get Fed On This Boulevard

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Implied underage. Lindsay thinks she's 16. Crime.

“This is degrading, you don't respect women at all!” Lindsay whines, as she scrambles into the front seat. “You wouldn't ask Michael to go out there dressed like this, would you?” 

George Senior would not. For one thing, Michael does not have the legs to pull it off, and for another, he's terrible at first contact. In the time it takes Michael to stammer out a hello, Lindsay's already got a mark's hand down her top and her own hand on their wallet. To be honest, when he'd started involving the kids in the family business as more than crying props, he'd thought having only one daughter was going to be a setback, but GOB had proven himself surprisingly adept at getting into other people's personal space.

“Hey Dad! Look what I've got!” said son chimes in from the back seat.

“Tell it to Theodore,” George snaps as he pulls out of the parking lot. GOB likes to talk. A lot. And if no one from the family listens, he spills all his secrets to whoever is nearby. Usually that's a stripper, which is fine, but there have been a couple of close calls with the cops, enough at least that Lucille went out and bought Theodore for him. She's always been the smartest cookie George knows. Sexiest too.

“So I was performing my new illusion,” GOB rambles to the giant teddy strapped in next to him. “The one with the mice in the balloons...”

“While GOB was offending all those people with his complete disregard for animal rights, I snatched three purses,” Lindsay interrupts.

“Hey, I was listening to that!” GOB, no Theodore, says in GOB's approximation of a Brooklyn accent. “Using illusions to distract the audience was a pretty good idea, right?”

“Nothing's less intimidating than an incompetent magician,” George agrees. The fact his eighteen year old son seems to have no problem believing his teddy bear is sentient means GOB is always his pick to send into restricted areas. If he gets caught, they can always claim insanity.

Lindsay and GOB thankfully ignore each other while George circles back to Newport Beach to pick up the rest of his children. He spots Michael, who is sat outside the country club looking dejected and abandoned. “At least I can trust Michael to work unsupervised, not like you two idiots.” 

Lindsay huffs. 

Michael is the only one of his kids smart enough to play the long game. He's spending his summer working at the club, getting close to Sally Sitwell, and more importantly her father. The Sitwells are housing developers; there is no way that family isn't hopelessly corrupt. When he sees the car, Michael reluctantly gets in and slams the door shut.

“How'd it go with Stickwell?”

“Sally wanted to take a ride with me in one of the golf carts, but I said no, I had the front desk to manage.”

GOB and Lindsay both squawk at him with glee. They're right, Michael is a chicken, but it was the right call, it's the part they need him to play if Stan is going to ever going to open up to him. Michael's the kind of boy who needs encouragement though so George says, “God, Michael, can't you do anything right? I spent the afternoon with GOB because while he's a disappointment, at least he doesn't screw things up as badly as you do.”

Michael's eyes flash with the anger that means he's only going to work harder from now on, and George congratulates himself on a job well done.

They've been driving for ten minutes before he realizes he's forgotten to pick up Buster, so he blames Michael for that too, and sends him back into the club to retrieve his younger brother.

“He was hiding out by the tennis courts, keeping an eye on Sally's mom for me, weren't you, buddy?”

“Theodore's in my seat,” Buster complains.

“Theodore was here first,” GOB says.

“Damn right I was.”

George sighs. “Theodore, sit on GOB's lap.” When nobody moves, he sighs again, louder. “Fine, Michael, sit on GOB's lap.”

Michael hits his head clambering over and deliberately elbows GOB in the face.

That reminds George to call J Walter Weatherman. What better way is there to earn an honest living than by using a man with only one arm to con people?

And if it teaches the brats a lesson as well, well that's a freebie.


End file.
